


Dawnstone

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Oneshot, Post DA2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 07:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11179881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: Cullen was sober, his cross-stitches were pink, and his hands were shaking as he stood on the docks.“You’re not here to stop me, are you?” The female voice was sudden beside him, but Cullen’s battle senses stayed dulled with introspective melancholy, though his hands began to shake to a slightly faster tempo.Cullen/Isabela oneshot taking place after the final battle in Kirkwall.WARNINGS: blood mention, drunk sex





	Dawnstone

Thick, dark blood could turn as pink and shiny as Dawnstone when mixed with enough soap. The clean, white smell had permeated thick on the steps of Hightown, washing candy coloured foam into the marketplace.

Kirkwall was staining pink, a rose-coloured tint for the blood stained city, and Cullen watched as it was scrubbed, his teeth biting his chapped lips white.

A stream of soapy water caught in the cobblestones and traced a maze towards his boots, suds washing over the leather like fluffy sunset clouds caught on a cliff.

He turned his back on the efforts of the Kirkwall residents, wondering how many of them had lost family, friends, leaders…

Cullen sighed, his hand finding the back of his neck as thoughts of Meredith inevitably came again. He wished there was a way to scrub the memory clean, to watch as the image of her turned from dark crimson to baby pink to white.

“I could use a drink,” he muttered, his eyes shifting guiltily to the Templars overseeing the cleaning of the city.

His eyes automatically scanned for Meredith next, and he caught himself before they looked too far.

“A drink,” he repeated in a whisper, shaking the soap off his boot and heading for the steps that led to Lowtown. Each footfall landed in a soft _squish_ as Cullen took the stairs, fleeing with renewed purpose, leaving a trail of Dawnstone-shiny footprints.

 

_________________________________________ 

 

Cullen’s hands were shaking as he stood on the docks.

He estimated that they had started shaking when he had first joined the Templar order, a constant shiver right in his fingertips that might have been a lyrium side effect. It got worse sometimes, at night with thoughts of his last station, of his family, of the things he had done and the people he had killed. It never quite stilled, not even in moments of prayer, or battle-stillness when his muscles operated by memory alone and his mind turned each face into a blank training dummy to stop the scream bubbling over his throat.

The white cross-stitches against the heel of his boot had been dyed to match the colour of the sinking sun. Night-time chill was beckoning behind him, he still hadn’t found that drink.

Cullen was sober, his cross-stitches were pink, and his hands were shaking as he stood on the docks.

“You’re not here to stop me, are you?” The female voice was sudden beside him, but Cullen’s battle senses stayed dulled with introspective melancholy, though his hands began to shake to a slightly faster tempo.

“I doubt it,” Cullen said to the brown-blue water of the harbour. His soap-white teeth bit against the curve of his lip, willing his hands to stillness.

“Hawke is leaving tonight as well, I think. Only Varric and Aveline are staying in the city after this, I reckon, and Merrill of course. I asked her to come with me but…”

His bitten-short fingernails dug into his palm, but he could still feel the muscles jumping in the pads of his fingertips.

“… She wanted to… Are you alright? You look like you need a drink.”

Cullen let his hands fall open as he turned his gaze towards the speaker, taking in first her face and then her outfit.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked, and Isabela shrugged in a movement that seemed far more sensual than necessary.

“That’s why I’m heading for my nice, _big_ , warm ship. I wanted to head off before the sun set, but I can stall my crew a few more minutes if you’d like to sample her wares.” Isabela smirked, her dark skin burning with the orange of the sky. “She’s got a cabin filled with ale – though I can’t guarantee the quality.”

Cullen felt his lips twitch in response as he contemplated one of the few people in Kirkwall who knew exactly what had happened when the Chantry exploded, and his nod was quick and tight.

“Come on then, you can help load up the last of these,” She nudged a crate with the toe of her boots. “I do love having a big, strong man around.”

“Really?” Cullen huffed a laugh despite himself, flexing his fingers before he leant down to grip the wooden edge, hauling the crate onto his hip and grunting with the effort.

“Oh yes, they pull such wonderful faces when their egos are damaged.” She said, pointedly grabbing another crate and lifting it effortlessly, watching as his lips twisted, schooling his muscles into stillness until he matched her casual stance.

She let out a bark of laughter, “Good work, Knight-Captain.”

 

______________________________________________

 

“You can stop pouring alcohol into me,” Cullen commented with a smirk that was far from sober. “I already said I wasn’t going to turn you in.”

“Who says I was getting you drunk so you wouldn’t turn me in?” Isabela responded, swirling the ale in her mug before tipping her head back and downing the remaining contents. “Perhaps I’m trying to seduce you.”

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up and he spluttered into his mug, unable to stop his eyes wandering over the way her body was reclined in the seat.

She smirked in a self-satisfied way, making to take another sip and scowling when she realized she was out of drink.

“That’s it for the ale,” She said, grunting as she hauled herself upwards and sauntered towards her alcohol cabinet.

Her cabin was smaller than a normal room, but larger than Cullen might have expected. The main feature was a bed, which Isabela’s eyes flitted to regularly in a teasing way that made Cullen wonder what on _earth_ he was going.  
Surely the guard was looking for him by now – surely the steps were clean. They needed to regroup and work out their next move, how to fix the cataclysmic tear that had appeared in the fabric of Thedas’ society. A guilty knife twisted in his gut, and he cleared his throat and made to stand.

“Wine!” Isabela said suddenly. “Knew I had some more around here.”

Cullen slumped back into his seat with a smile of defeat. “Red or white?”

“Red,” she responded, swaying into view, all hips and breasts and smudged kohl. “Full body, sweet taste, lingers on the tongue.”

Cullen swallowed. A rose coloured tint for a blood stained city.

“The wine isn’t bad either.” Bela unsheathed her dagger in a swift motion, stabbing it into the cork and opening the bottle, taking the cork from her knife with her teeth.

She left her dagger on the table and took a swig straight from the bottle, offering it to him next. He watched the dark red liquid stain her pink lips darker.

He tilted his head back, letting the sweet wine trickle down his throat and permeate in his stomach, drunkenness still pumping sluggishly through his body, making his fingertips numb. He couldn’t feel the trembling, but he did feel his grin widening.

“You’re beautiful,” he declared, feeling his cheeks darken despite himself. “Why are you trying to seduce _me?”_

Isabela’s eyes were predatory, but her lips were pulled up in an amused smile. “You’re not so bad, you know. Little bit of hair product and some nicer armour, I reckon half the women in Orlais would crowd around you.”

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head and taking another long drink. As he lowered the bottle he saw Isabela moving towards him, sitting against the table that had separated them earlier. She hoisted one booted foot onto the arm of his chair, leaning forward to take the bottle of wine.

“Besides,” she began, pausing for a drink. “It’s not as if this is about _feelings_ , Knight-Captain. We both just went through something awful, and it’s natural for humans to seek comfort in each other.”

Her other boot was on the other arm of his chair, her thighs spread slightly, the warmth of her calves radiating onto Cullen’s arms.

He swallowed. “I-it is?”

“Of course,” Isabela turned slightly and placed the bottle behind her, using her free hands to slide over Cullen’s hair and down to his shoulders. “Sometimes the only way to loosen up-” she slid into his lap, her fingers locking behind his neck. “Is with a nice, hard, _fuck.”_

She bit his earlobe and ground down onto him, and Cullen could hear a thin whine escaping his throat as his idle hands found her waist, turning his face so he could kiss her.

She tilted her head at the last minute, but Cullen’s lips found her neck and she let out a soft gasp that turned into a throaty moan as his teeth bit down onto her tendon.

Her hands fumbled with the straps at his shoulders, loosening his armour expertly and then pulling away to take off his chest plate and shoulder pauldrons, leaving him in a loose shirt and soft, leather pants.

Cullen’s hands moved over her waist to the hem of her dress, tugging it upwards and pausing when all he found was smooth skin.

“Something wrong?” Isabela asked, leaning back to look at him.

“You’re not wearing any-”

“I’m not.” Isabela agreed, a smile breaking over her features as she slid a hand down his pants, grasping his half-hard cock and forcing a gasp from Cullen’s mouth.

“M- _maker,”_ he whispered, his hips thrusting upwards as his fingernails bit crescents into her thighs.

“Looks like I’m doing all the work here, Knight-Captain.” Isabela taunted, teeth brushing against the stubble of his neck.

Cullen’s grip tightened as he stood, picking her up effortlessly and taking her towards the bed, tossing her onto the covers.

Isabela lifted her knees, letting her dress fall to her stomach, exposing so much soft skin that Cullen’s breathe stuttered, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“See something you like, Cullen?” She asked, her voice lower.

He nodded speechlessly, crawling onto the bed and nudging her knees with his head, his hands spreading over her inner thighs and pushing them further apart.

In any other circumstance, he might have taken his time. Might have teased and traced and played with her until she was begging, but his brain was a blur of candy-coloured foam and dark red wine, and his mouth descended hungrily, tongue thrusting into her in one smooth motion.

She gasped a moan, her back arching as he fucked her with his mouth, lapping over her clit in firm strokes, his stubble scratching against her thighs.

He suckled against her, one finger playing with her wetness, pushing in slowly as his licks found rhythm, adding a second finger and feeling as she coated his palm, slicking his fingers until he was pumping his arm at a punishing pace, biting her thighs in between lapping over her.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him upwards until his chest was pressed against hers, pulling him into a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than finesse and practice.

She shoved her hand back into his pants, pulling his cock out and lifting her hips.

He thrusted into her with an easy push, his head falling against her shoulder as she moaned, urging his hips with impatient fingers.

He began to fuck her in earnest, one hand below her knee, finding an angle and pushing her into the bed. She was whispering a mantra of ‘ _yes’_ and ‘ _fuck’_ , her hips twisting against his.

He lifted her other knee, leaning over the pirate and kissing her as his pace quickened, and he felt as she fluttered against him, eyes slamming open and then squeezing closed, a long moan muffled into his teeth as he thrusted twice more and felt himself coming undone.

“ _Maker,”_ he whispered, groaning as the heels of Isabela’s boots dug into his thighs, keeping him tight inside her his cock twitching and his arms shaking with the effort of holding himself up.

She grinned up at him, her eyes hazy, her lips rosy. She stretched out her back, elongating her neck to reveal a darkening bite mark, still slick with saliva, pink and shiny as Dawnstone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm over at amatuskadanvhenan.tumblr.com :)


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